Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was the second day since the tragic salon at the Windham townhouse, and Honora was holed up in the studio at her father’s house.

She had thought to grind some pigments for mixing paint, but her hands could not start the work. Emmaline had been sitting in the same chair for what felt like hours, just thinking about her life and how it had led her here to this pinnacle of disappointment.

So strange to realise it, but it was never her studio, it would always be only his.

Mr Winters’s studio, his house, and his signature at the bottom of every painting.

Emmaline was a ghost in her own home, her only purpose was to support her father, be a good daughter, and play by the rules dictated to her by someone else.

For a brief moment, she had thought there might be a chance for her to take the reigns of her life and make a choice for her happiness, but she had been wrong.

Such a fool. Hope was a dangerous thing indeed.

Now, Emmaline was resigning herself to return to the path that had been laid out for her. Work in her father’s name, look after him in his dotage, preserve his legacy and live out the rest of her life as an old maid when he was gone.

Emmaline wanted to cry. But alas, no tears would come. They had all been spent that night she had learned of Benedict’s betrayal.

Honora had come to the house asking to talk, but Emmaline had declined to see her. It was too painful since there could be no relationship between them now. Emmaline had simply sent down a note politely asking for the paintings to be returned to her father’s house.

Another eternal minute passed, and Honora decided she would take herself to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

She walked out of the studio and came to a halt, there was some kind of commotion happening downstairs.

Curious, since nothing unusual ever happened in this house, Emmaline moved towards the noise, coming to a halt in the entrance hall as she observed a veritable army of people carrying vases of flowers in the door and through to the parlour.

She stared in surprise as a variety of roses, lilies, hothouse flowers, posies, sweet wildflowers and everything in between marched before her eyes.

Shocked and alarmed, Emmaline hurried into the parlour in search of her father, blinking in shock as she discovered every available surface, and even some parts of the floor covered in a living blanket of blooms.

Perturbed now, wandering vaguely if her father was smothered under a particularly large arrangement of hothouse flowers, Emmaline waded through the jungle towards the window where she peeked through the curtains looking for the source of the commotion.

A carriage was parked outside, two others behind it, and with a sinking feeling, Emmaline recognised the sigil on the door.

It was the Seton crest. Of course, she should have known. Only the nobility would be so extravagant.

Just at that moment, her father walked into the room, hurrying over when he spied her at the window.

“Lord Seton is here to see you,” he muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose and sniffing in distaste. “Will you see him? I do not know what has happened, but if you are here and not with him, it must have been something unforgivable.”

“Why would you say that?” asked Emmaline in amazement.

Her father had not made a single comment when she arrived home from the Windham residence and locked herself in her room. She had not thought he cared.

Mr Winters looked at his daughter and drew himself up, giving her his most serious look. “You are the best daughter, the most sensible and caring young woman a father could ever wish for. If you have put Seton behind you, there must be a reason. I know no one more loyal than you, my Emmaline.”

Emmaline stood there in disbelief.

It was perhaps the only words of sentiment her father had ever uttered to her since her mother passed all those years ago.

“I see I have surprised you,” Mr Winters said, pursing his lips and slipping his glasses from his nose to clean them awkwardly on his handkerchief. “I know I am not one for words, but I will support you in whatever choice you make.”

“Thank you, Father,” said Emmaline with a small sniff, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his grizzled cheek.

She lifted her chin and straightened her skirts as she determined to see this through.

“I will see him.”

“Very well,” said Mr Winters, and he walked from the room, nodding curtly to someone on the other side of the door.

Benedict walked in, and for a long moment they simply stared at each other, then he placed his hand to his chest and bowed as if she was some elegant lady.

Pffft. Emmaline squashed the urge to roll her eyes.

He walked cautiously towards her, pausing when he noticed the expression in her eyes.

“Emmaline-” he started, but she interrupted him.

“What is all this, Benedict? Do you think to soften me with all the flowers in London?”

He waved dismissively at the flowers. “No, of course not. They are not the reason I am here.”

“And why are you here?” Emmaline prompted, drawing herself up and attempting to look down her nose at him. It was rather hard, since he was at least a foot taller than her.

“I am here to beg for a moment to explain myself, to ask you to forgive me.”

“And why should I?” said Emmaline with exasperation, flinging her arms wide at the ridiculous display. “Is there any possibility the facts have changed since we last spoke?”

Benedict stepped closer, his jaw tight.

“Yes, and no. Yes, Silas and I discussed the fact of my attraction for yes. Yes, he encouraged me to pursue you, knowing as he does that love is something worth taking a risk on. But no, we did not place a wager on my success. I was so angry at the insinuation, that I stormed out. Branwin overhead and misread the situation.”

He held out his hand, inviting her to come to him.

“I have called him out, the bastard fled to the continent yesterday.”

“What?” asked Emmaline, astonished at the thought of the studious Benedict inflicting violence on another.

Then, she recollected her anger, and turned away. “It is no matter, you discussed me as if I was an object, not a thinking, feeling being. And why did you kiss me, touch me like that, if it wasn’t because of the wager?”

“I kissed you that night because I could not help myself. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you-”

Emmaline snorted, glaring at him in disbelief.

Benedict held up his hands, inching closer still. “No, it’s true. But I realised it was wrong to take advantage of you, so I put you at arm’s length until you finished the painting and there would be no barriers between us, no obligation or uncertainty. Just two people who were meant to be together.”

“And how did you know that I wanted that? Do you know how it wounded me when you acted like nothing had happened the next day, and every day after that? It was awful, having to sit there in your presence and pretend to feel nothing while my heart was breaking.”

Benedict sucked in a heavy breath, running his hand through his hair in that manner he had.

“I tried to make it less difficult, I even brought Honora to meet you. I knew you would enjoy each other’s company, and Honora agreed that we would be perfect for each other…”

“Honora knew? ” asked Emmaline in anguish, anger rising hot and fierce in her heart.

“Well, yes,” replied Benedict in confusion.

“I can’t believe you. Did everyone but me understand what was going on?” Emmaline wanted to hit something, she wanted to pluck each petal from every flower and stomp on them.

“Stop playing these games with me! That is what this whole production is even now. You have been high-handed in your treatment of me from the start, deciding what was best for me without even consulting me on my own life. And now you are trying to buy me with flowers.”

“I am not here to beg your forgiveness with flowers, they are for-”

But Emmaline had no patience to hear him out, her temper was in control now.

“I am not a political game you can win, Benedict. I am a woman who loves you.”

“And I, you-”

“Is this how you treat someone you love? By seducing them, then ignoring them, then again turning your attention on them like the light of the sun until they fall into your arms? Only to find out that even then, you are still playing games? And bringing Honora into it? I thought she was my friend.”

“She is your friend-” stammered Benedict, his cheeks flushed as Emmaline let loose every last thought she had bottled inside.

“But she is your sister first. You planned this with her from the very beginning. You betrayed me.”

“I wanted to protect you-”

“From what?” Emmaline cried, stepping towards him.

“From me,” cried Benedict, his eyes fierce.

They stared at each other, chests heaving, as Emmaline slowly gained control of her emotions.

This was not who she was, she did not want to hold on to this hurt anymore.

“And what of my feelings, my wants?” she asked softly, wrapping her arms around herself in distress. “I have a mind of my own, I can make my own decisions. But you took them away from me.”

“Yes. you are right,” nodded Benedict, stepping close and wrapping his arms around her, holding her even though she stayed rigid in his embrace.

“And I am hoping you will make one of them right now. I am hoping you will choose me, as flawed as I am, knowing that of all the things that have happened, the one certainty is that I have loved you, I still love you, and I have never had anything but honourable intentions towards you.”

“You love me?” asked Emmaline softly, worrying her lip with her teeth. “But how can you love me, I am nobody.”

“I love everything about you,” said Benedict softly, kissing the top of her head and pulling back to look earnestly into her eyes. “I love your sweet voice, your sharp mind, your talent, your beauty, the way you nibble on the end of a paintbrush when you are concentrating. The way you look at me.”

Emmaline looked down, embarrassed by this speech.

“I want to marry you, sweet Emmaline.”

“But what will they say about me?” she sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Benedict frowned, pulling her hand away and holding it tight. “They will say nothing, they will dare not once you are my viscountess, they will have to deal with me.”

He looked back at the room, then dropped to one knee at her feet, looking up at her as he fumbled in his pocket and drew out a sheet of paper, holding it out to her.

“Look, I have posted the notice of our marriage, the priest waits in the carriage with the special license. I am sorry it took so long to arrange. There is a wedding breakfast planned at the house and the staff eagerly wait for you to come home.”

He gestured to the room, to himself.

“I am here on my knees begging you to let me prove my intentions have always been honest, please marry me.”

“And what if I say no?”

“That is your right, no one will deny that you broke it off, that I was sincere. We will squash the remnants of any rumours with our happiness. Please, let me make you happy, Emmaline. I will do anything.”

The ridiculous sight of him waiting on her decision, the room full of flowers, the thought that he might truly love her - all those things, it was too much for her heart.

Emmaline knew she had never truly been able to say no to him. She had wanted him too, from that very first day.

“Yes, I will be your wife,” she said softly, and Benedict closed his eyes in relief, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her tight, before rising and dragging her into his arms for a kiss that made her insides melt with relief.

He searched his pocket and drew out the emerald ring, slipping it onto her finger where it belonged.

She never wanted them to fight again, it had almost torn her apart.